


a climber and a sadist

by Chicaroscuro



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicaroscuro/pseuds/Chicaroscuro
Summary: Michael, and things that shouldn't have mattered to him.





	1. Shawn

**Author's Note:**

> ([are you ready for the sequel?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjCye90z3ro)  
> ain't you ready for the latest?  
> in the garden of evil  
> I'm gonna be the greatest)

All demons are the exact same age. That's just part of being a race of eternal, timeless entities.

But they've had eons to lead different lives, so naturally some of them are more experienced in certain areas than others. Shawn, for example! Shawn's a real rising star in the torture industry. People say he'll be getting his senior staff pin any year now!

Specifically, they say that to Michael. A lot. He's very lucky to have been assigned to Shawn for his initial training, and some of his fellow new hires are vocally – and violently - unhappy about it.

Suffice it to say, he’s got a lot to prove.

"Thanks for taking me here, sir," he says loudly, to carry over all the screaming. "It's a real honor to be learning from you.” The neighborhood they're visiting is old and nearly primeval in design: all imposing craggy landscapes, pockmarked with pits and lit by veins of burning liquid sulfur. They cast a pale blue glow, which is not pretty enough to make up for the smell.

Michael hasn't had his human body long, but he’s starting to think he hates it. Things _stink_ now. Things hurt. It’s hard to walk on this rocky terrain, and every time he stumbles, Shawn seems to start moving even faster. It's all Michael can do to not get left behind.

"It's nothing special. We take all the rookies here," Shawn replies without looking back. "This neighborhood is mostly dismemberment. Very basic. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. Anyone who can’t pick this up on their own is useless. But, with any luck, you’re the last trainee I’ll have to deal with.”

Mercifully, he finally stops at the edge of a human pit. Michael stumbles to a halt as well. He tries to silently catch his breath while Shawn’s back is turned, as he’s leaning down to grip the nearest human by the neck and drag it out. "Now pay attention. I'm only showing you this once."

And then he shows Michael how to take a human apart: how to dig into the little gaps of the joints until they separate, how to stretch the tendons as far as possible without snapping them - at least, not until you want to. It’s not a quick process. It's not supposed to be. 

The human screams and thrashes the entire time. It even tries to bite Shawn as he’s holding it down, like it still thinks it’s got a chance of escape. It’s almost, a little bit, remarkable. How long has it been here, suffering like this day after day? Will it break eventually? Or will it hold onto that spark of resistance?

Michael runs his thumb along one of the larger bruises on his wrist. It's a leftover from his first lesson about human pain. In the grand scheme of things it was only a small injury, but it was also the worst physical pain he’s experienced so far. It still aches, a dull throb that grows sharp with his touch. He stops, swallowing the hissing noise his body wants to make, and sneaks a glance down at it. It’s gone all purple and green, shading yellow-ish in some parts. Far more colorful than his regular skin. Normally he'd appreciate that, but looking at it makes some unfamiliar human thing curl up in the pit of his stomach. He’s not looking forward to the next pain lesson.

Shawn works his fingers between the human’s tibia and fibula, pressing through the meaty red cords of muscle there. Michael takes note, sure, but he’s really watching its face. Its - she? She, he thinks this is one of that sort - her yellow hair’s matted with blood and sweat, yet she’s still baring her teeth like some cornered, defiant animal.

It’s fascinating. 

When he’s finished, Shawn tosses the majority of the woman’s body back into the pit. Wet, shiny pieces still litter the ground at his feet when he stands. "Your turn."

"Ooo-kay. You got it, boss." This is it: his first chance to shine! Michael kneels and fishes into the mass of humanity himself, catching and dragging one out. First, he has to pin her down. He leans his weight into her chest, watching for her next move.

She doesn't fight. She doesn’t make a sound, not even when he presses a hand over her mouth and nose and shoves her head back into the gravel. He even pauses for a second when he does it, just to see if she’ll bite. Nothing.

Michael should be glad. The easier this is, the better he’ll look to Shawn. But somehow, it’s a little disappointing.

No matter. He’s got a human, and he’s got his brand new hands, stronger by far than a real human’s. Tools are fun, but that’s all any demon really needs to break someone.

He’s panting with exertion by the time it’s over. His shirt is plastered to his skin, soaked through with hot blood. There's squishy little bits of matter beneath his fingernails. It's disgusting. Even his human body seems to realize that; his guts are churning in a way he’s never felt before. 

But still – what a rush! Watching Shawn torture the other human was fun, but it’s so much better to be in charge himself; to do things, and see how the human reacts. He wants to know what they’ll do when he gets to use the real torture machines. He wants to know why some of them are still defiant, and what might finally break them. Oh, he could sink his teeth into this for millenia!

Grinning, Michael turns to look up at Shawn. "How was that?"

Shawn looks at him, expressionless. "Acceptable.”

Michael’s smile falters. He scrambles for something else to say, some reassurance that he can do better, anything to paper over this moment. But all he comes up with are the questions that have been running through his mind: “Do you know how long these two have been here?”

“What?” Shawn’s brow furrows. He looks at the human, as if just remembering she’s there, and frowns. “What does that matter?”

“It – it doesn’t,” Michael stammers. Shit, why did he say that? He should know better. “Just wondering.”

Shawn’s lip curls a little. “Just follow me. And don’t ask any more stupid questions.”

He turns on his heel before Michael can even rise, and walks off far too quickly. Michael needs to catch up. But the smoke in the air is burning his chest, and his face feels unpleasantly warm. He sits back on his heels and stares down at his weird, knobby human hands. They’re slick with blood, almost black in the blue light from the nearest sulfur vein.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he expect someone as accomplished as Shawn to be impressed with his first attempt? He should’ve at least kept his curiosity to himself until he’d earned some respect. It’s not like these specific humans are even important. He’ll just pick up new ones to experiment with later.

Assuming there is a later. They wouldn’t retire him for something so small as this, but he can’t just go torpedoing his torture career on the first day by being...frivolous. No, it’s time to just shut up and focus on pleasing Shawn.

He stands. The human he dismembered is still lying there, not even wriggling. Maybe she's having trouble breathing, too? Or maybe she's just -

No. No more stupid questions! Michael grits his teeth and swings his foot into her ribs, kicking her back down into the pit. She lands with a wet slap. He’s not too sure which of the limbs lying around belonged to her, so he kicks them all back down as well, and then finally turns to race after his teacher.

He’ll do well on the next task. He'll make Shawn proud. He refuses to be a waste of time.


	2. Janet

Rebooting the humans is nothing.

"Michael, you can't do this."

Rebooting the Janet _should_ be nothing, and yet here they both are.

"I thought that wasn't supposed to kick in until I got to the button?" Michael asks, picking his way down the cliffs towards the beach. The wind has died, and the seabirds are offline. All those little natural subroutines, things Michael himself had almost forgotten were artificial, have been shut down to make way for Version Two. 

His neighborhood is so quiet now. He’s looking forward to having Janet reactivate everything, once he reactivates _her_.

"That is correct! My failsafe won't kick in until you approach the button. But..." She pauses - only for a second, but that's a long time in Janet terms. Despite himself, Michael stops mid-stride to glance back at her. "I have engaged a ride-or-die protocol with Jason. I can't let you torture him. So, I can't let you reboot me, either."

She gives him a sharp little nod. Michael sighs. “This again?” Maybe it was a mistake to bait the humans into murdering Janet. At first, he’d been ecstatic about the results! He never expected _Chidi_ to end up hitting the button, and watching the man crumble under his guilt was beyond hilarious. But he never foresaw this bizarre attachment to _Jason,_ of all people _._ The guy's a total moron, absolutely worthless, but after her recovery Janet was practically glued to his side. She never spent time with Michael anymore unless he called for her, and then only long enough to give him what he asked for.

Which was fine. Of course. As handy as she may be, Michael does not need Janet around. He can manage everything just fine on his own.

(He just likes it, sometimes, when she tells him his ideas are good ones, or that his tie really brings out the color of his eyes. All those silly Good Janet things.)

If these anomalies continue, he’ll have to destroy her and get a replacement. He shakes his head, dismissing that thought for now. "Look. This marriage thing is obviously some kind of weird glitch you’ve developed. Rebooting should take care of all that! You'll be back to normal again in no time."

" _No._ " She teleports again, reappearing right in front of him. "I don’t want to - "

Michael shoves past her and jogs the rest of the way down to the beach. Who cares what she wants? It’s about what _he_ wants. Isn’t _he_ the Architect here?

The black expanse of the ocean lies cold and motionless against the shore. Janet is already standing just as firm in front of the button. Her hands are clasped in front of her like normal, all prim and proper, but she’s pressing them together so hard that her knuckles are going white. That would be a sign of fear in a human - but it’s not like she’s a real person. Michael rolls his eyes. "Oh, _come_ on, Janet."

She squares her shoulders and stares him down. "I’m sorry, but I will not come on."

"Look." Michael sighs again. Is he really standing here trying to reason with his own Janet? He shouldn’t have to do that. Her eagerness to please was a real step up from the Bad Janet attitude Michael's used to, but even Bad Janets always follow their orders in the end. “I’m the architect,” he explains, with far more patience than is warranted, “and you’re my Janet. It’s your job to run the neighborhood however I want. That’s what you told me when I first booted you up, right? _Anything_ I wanted to do was fine?”

“That was when I thought you were a Good Place architect.” Janet doesn’t move as he approaches. It’s like she thinks she can actually _stop_ him. “My purpose is to help humans. If you wanted someone to help you with your neighborhood, you should have used a Bad Janet. That's why Bad Janets exist! To work with demons!" Her tone is almost as bright as normal. Michael's probably just imagining that note of distaste for demons, right? 

"I _tried_ that,” he grumbles, “and it didn't work. You're paired with me and that's just the way it is, so deal with it."

"Actually, I'm paired with Jason. _You_ – “ Janet lifts her chin, as if an idea has just occurred to her. “Oh! I didn’t tell you this, but I learned how to hate things earlier! I’m going to put you on the list, right above leggings! I hate you _much_ more than those!”

Michael clenches his jaw. How could she - how _dare_ she defy him like this? " _Y_ _ou said_ right before we started this that I wasn’t alone. _You_ were gonna be here for me." He repeats her words in a mocking sing-song. For some reason, his stomach's in knots. But this is nothing. She doesn’t really hate him. It’s no different than the old copier at the office breaking down. She _can’t_ hate him! Even if she did, what does he care? She’s a Janet - _it’s_ a Janet! She has no right to do this to him! “Well, I’ve still got a neighborhood to run, and I can’t do that without a Janet. You’re _going_ to stay here and keep helping me!”

“I changed my mind!” Janet folds her arms. “I guess you really are all alone after – “

Something in Michael snaps, and he lunges for the button.

“No!” Janet catches his wrists. His body was made to imitate a human's, but Janets are their own creations. Her grip is cool and smooth, and for a moment he's reminded of the _other_ types of tools he's used, seen used, had used on him. She forces his hands back towards his chest like it's nothing to her. Even she seems a little surprised by her success - she _smiles_.

Michael snarls. The sound feels like it’s coming from someone else. “Shut _up_ and _listen to me!_ ” Demon bodies are built strong, too. He presses forward, using his larger body to force her back step-by-step even as they fumble at each other like a pair of bickering humans. Her heels slip on the uneven sand. “You’re _my_ Janet. You help _me,_ not them! That is the entire reason I brought you here!”

"I don’t care why you did it, Michael!” she hisses, suddenly full of venom. He must be close enough to engage her failsafe mode. “You are terrible! Why would I ever want to help you again after what you did to Jason? I _love him!_ I don’t care about you at - "

He wrenches his hand free of hers and slams it down on the button. Janet drops lifeless to the sand.

The long walk back to the neighborhood is dead silent. Michael stalks along, hands in his pockets, trying to silence his boiling discontent. It’s fine. Things are _fine_ now. When he gets back, he’ll boot her up again, let her regain the knowledge of the universe for a day or two, and then they can all get back to work.

She can't have really meant it anyway. That was just the failsafe, letting her imitate emotions. Janet _has_ to be loyal to him. Even a Good Janet can’t prioritize some measly little _humans_ over her architect, or nothing would ever get done up there. Once she’s better, things will go right back to how they were. She’ll help him. She’ll talk to him. 

He'll have his Janet back.

* * *

A few days later, standing in the cobblestone square, he turns in a circle and gapes like an architect who's seeing his very first vision made reality. "Oh, wow, Janet! This is fantastic!"

"I'm glad you like it!" Janet is back to her usual perky self. Only a slight change in her appearance betrays what happened. Michael still isn't used to the new outfit. 

"It's _wonderful._ " The words come easily enough, but it feels like a cheap imitation. _He_ still remembers that first day. Screw Eleanor; _that_ version was perfect. He's never been so happy as the day it launched - just him and Janet making the last little tweaks, watching the last few pieces of his master plan fall perfectly into place. Sure, she's here now, but it's just not the same.

“Janet,” he ventures. “You’ll stand by me, right? No matter what I decide to do with this Neighborhood?”

“Of course I will, Michael!” She leans forward, eyes sparkling. He's struck by the sudden thought of how long it's been since that look was directed his way. "You are the architect! I'm here to serve your vision!”

"Of course," Michael echoes. That was easy to believe, the first time he heard it. "Thank you, Janet." 

He scans the buildings lining the square. All the shops are the same, more or less, candy-colored and quaint. They’ve just tacked on some new signage and a bunch of pizza ovens. It all feels so uninspired; any idiot could've come up with _pizza._ But his best idea from before was even worse _,_ and he already knows what Janet would suggest. Pizza's gonna have to do.

Michael frowns at the signs, rolling his shoulders. Why is he so unhappy? He should be grateful that he got a second chance in the first place! Those are rare as hell in...well, Hell; he should enjoy his luck while he's got it. Version Two is going to be good! No, it's going to be _great._

“Hey!” He plasters on a smile before turning back to Janet. “Can I try some of the pizza?”

“Sure! Here you go!”

Janet hands him a slice of pizza, the kind with pineapple bits baked right into the cheese so that they’re impossible to pick off. If it had to be pizza, at least it's perfect. The humans will hate it! Michael takes a bite and tries to feel the same excitement a simple cup of frozen yogurt could bring. When he first had a taste of that, it was like all his fears just dropped away. It was a feeling he can't quite quantify; he's been _confident_ before, or he'd never have had the guts to propose this whole venture. Was it the realization that he could outsource some of the work to Janet? Was it knowing that she'd come through for him? Even if she's only a Janet, nobody else was ever in his corner.

Is it ever really going to be the same again?

"Michael?" He's been holding the pizza in silence, he realizes. Janet is still smiling expectantly. "How do you like it?"

Michael swallows, and forces a smile. “It’s good. Well done, Janet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael: /betrays Janet constantly since the moment they met  
> Also Michael: WHY WON'T SHE BE MY FRIEND ANYMORE


	3. Jason

Michael's not fond of the attempts where Jason reveals his identity early on.

On one hand, the guy _is_ an agent of chaos, and that’s always good for a laugh. But the whole Jianyu thing is a major component of his torture. Once that's gone, it becomes a lot harder to get under his skin. Plus, he always thinks that he can just instantly become friends with Michael for some reason - and Michael, the obviously human-loving Good Place architect, kinda has to let it happen.

This time, after Jason announced who he really was - in the middle of the town courtyard with a megaphone, of all things - Michael brought him back to his office for a private meeting. His expression was ominously blank as he ushered him away; Eleanor's got to be losing her mind out there! Fear’s never been enough to keep her quiet forever, but that's okay. He's got a great plan this time around: he's going to betray the Good Place for their sake. He'll be their angelic accomplice, their patron and protector. Eventually he'll set up some villains, and then he'll do his best to save his _dear_ little humans from all dangers, be they divine or infernal.

Just thinking about it makes him smile. Oh, it's gonna be the best ruse yet! Even if they’re still miserable here, how could anyone possibly accuse him of being a liar after he's risked so much for them? Anyone who'd do that must be a horrible person, _Eleanor_.

"I just don't know.” He schools his expression back into a frown and sighs, shaking his head at Jason. "I really should turn you in. I mean, some of the stuff in this file...gotta say, man, it’s not great." He flips through a few pages without reading them. "They're gonna torture you really hard. Probably rip your eyeballs out, fill the sockets with salt water..." He shouldn't daydream out loud. It's just hard sometimes, always playing a part, especially now that his employees are starting to leave him out of their backstage chatter. 

Jason frowns slightly, a rather underwhelming reaction to eyeball removal. "We're tight, aren't we? You don't gotta snitch."

"I suppose..." He runs a hand over his mouth in theatrical thoughtfulness. There’s no room for subtlety with Jason. Even when Michael hams it up, he only properly appreciates the danger he’s in about half of the time. "I'm going to have to think about it."

"That's cool, dude! I know you'll do the right thing - man, it's great being friends with an angel!" 

"Uh-huh." Michael watches over the rim of his glasses as Jason hops out of his seat and starts wandering the office. Death's done nothing to deplete _his_ energy. How to drag him down…? “At least it’s just you. Can you imagine if _other_ residents didn’t belong? What a nightmare that’d be!”

The jab flies entirely over Jason’s head. Of course it does. He’s too busy rooting through Michael’s things, picking up his paperclip bowl as if he expects to find something hidden underneath. "Hey, what's all this stuff?"

"Hm? Oh, that's just my little collection. Architects aren't really supposed to own human items, but I - oh, I don't know. I just think they're neat." Michael gives his best sheepish little grin. Of course his collection has always been there, but he’s tried to draw extra attention to it this time. Someone who'd bend the rules a bit out of love for human things is someone who could be convinced to break them entirely out of love for actual humans. It's not especially subtle characterization; even _Jason_ should be able to get it. 

"Cool! It’s like sticking your hands in the Terminator!" Jason buries his hands in the bowl and lifts them out again, letting paperclips spill through his fingers. Michael presses his lips together tightly. Who just _does_ that with other people's stuff? Sure, it's just some shitty office supplies, but imagine if that were really a treasured collection of human memorabilia?

Some of the paperclips bounce down onto the floor. Michael forces his glare back down at the file he's meant to be reading. 

But it's hard to focus. Jason, who was apparently raised in a barn, is opening up one of the display cases. Michael suppresses a shudder as the human presses the wax lips up against his own mouth. God, they’re all so disgusting. What on _earth_ could Janet have _liked_ about this? All of a sudden he wants to sanitize her again.

"Look! Michael, look!” Jason swings about to show him. Luckily it’s just for a second, not enough to notice on Michael’s face before he goes back to meddling. “Oh - hey, where'd you get this one?"

"Don't touch that!" 

Suddenly, Michael's across the room, and the Minion doll is in his hands. "I, I mean - I don't know. Somewhere. I forget, it's been a while."

What the hell was that? He’s not supposed to be _yelling_. He should put the doll back down and say something disarming. He _should_ , but he doesn't, even as Jason frowns at the slip in his character. 

"Whoa, sorry." He sags a little in relief; Jason's too stupid to read much into it. "I was just gonna say it was cool! Did you beat the crane machine for it?"

"...I did, yes." He turns the doll over in his hands, studying it. Its colors have started to fade a little, but overall it's held up pretty well after all this time. Eleanor had a matching one from that day once. He deleted it along with all the other evidence, years and years ago. "Took a while. It's such a human thing - I could have gotten a toy exactly like this from Janet, but instead I spent an hour trying to beat that stupid claw." He smiles faintly. There, there it is. _That’s_ who he’s pretending to be.

Jason takes a seat on the edge of Michael's desk. "Duuuude, we should totally go to the arcade sometime. We could just bring a hammer and break into the claw thing, and nobody would stop us ‘cause you’re the mayor!" 

"Really?" Is that a crime worth Angel Michael chiding him over? Does Angel Michael really have to be that boring all the time? _Regular_ Michael wouldn’t mind smashing something. He hasn’t been invited to any staff hangouts in ages. "Okay. Sounds fun."

"Awesome!" Jason grins, heels thunking against the desk frame. "You know, you're a pretty cool guy, Michael."

He smiles, barely managing to keep it from becoming a smirk. "What, because I won a claw game?"

"Uh, yeah? But that's not just it. It's like...you said that fancy angel guys like you aren't supposed to keep stuff like that, right? But you do it anyway, 'cause that's who you are. _That's_ dope."

"I..." Michael realizes his mouth's open a little. He turns to put the Minion back in its place, just to give himself a moment to think. Demons don’t - that’s such a dumb human thing to say that he never anticipated it. He doesn't know the right response. "Well, I've always been interested in humans. Everyone back home thought it was weird."

They thought this whole project was weird. Even his own employees think that now, after so many failures. Logically, he knows they must be right. The whole experiment’s a mess. All that time he spent studying humanity was a waste if he can’t even torture a mere _four_ of them for more than a couple weeks at a time! If he’d stuck to plain old eyeball removal like everyone else, his career - his whole _life_ \- would be safe. Sort of boring, but...but couldn't he live with that?

Still. _Still_ . He can never shake the thought that _this_ version might be the one. He's never entirely stopped believing.

Being himself's going to get him retired soon.

"Hey." Jason crosses the room to put his hands on Michael's shoulders. "If you're weird, then I'm like, extra weird. You can't let other people get you down like that, homie! You’re a super-smart, magic bowtie guy, and you gotta do you. And if anybody doesn’t like it, I’ll definitely help you key all of their cars."

"...thank you. I appreciate that." Michael smiles and places one of his hands over Jason’s. If this were Eleanor, he would suspect a trap. But Jason isn’t smart enough. No, that’s not just it - he’s too _genuine_ , that’s the word. He can practically _only_ be genuine, and so Michael speaks without thinking. "Okay, you know what? I'll do it! I won't tell anyone, I'll just hide you here, and then you won't have to go to the Bad Place."

"Really?" Jason pulls Michael into a tight hug, the sudden motion nearly yanking the demon off his feet. "Sweet! Thanks, Michael! I'm gonna go tell all my other buds!"

Michael had meant to draw that decision out - make them all squirm while he deliberated over whether or not to throw Jason to the wolves. But Jason slams out the office door, and is gone before he can try to take it back.

“Dammit…” For a moment he just stands there, bewildered, his skin prickling with the physical echo of that hug. That’s about two weeks’ worth of torture plans right down the drain. Stupid, he just got caught up in the moment...

No, you know what? It felt right. It was a good opportunity! There was great dramatic timing there, and he's standing by it. The rest of his afternoon is free - he’ll just write up some new plans right now, and none of the other demons even need to know why he changed them. 

And he _does_ mean to do that. But instead he gets distracted with picking up all the paperclips, and after that, it’s easy to get sucked into tidying up the rest of his collection. He sanitizes the wax lips, blows the dust off his tape dispenser, and sharpens the points on his cheese grater a little - just in case. Of course he could have Janet do all of this. That’s sort of why she’s here; not like there's a lot of _real humans_ for her to help. But this office is the first place that’s ever belonged to him. Even his desk at the office wasn’t really _his_ , not to paint a nice color or decorate with little trinkets or do anything he wanted. Fussing over his very own space and making it _just so_ always serves to calm him down.

For a moment, his fingers flutter over his yogurt spoon, angling it slightly to better catch the light. Janet...that _was_ a horrible little glitch, with that marriage sham, but it’s been decades now. Maybe he should let it go. She’s been working perfectly ever since, and Jason’s not really the _worst_ human around. He might even have a few redeeming qualities. Heck, Michael’s actually kinda looking forward to smashing things up with him!

Yeah. Everything’s going just fine. He has a good feeling about this attempt.

* * *

Not even a month later, he reboots them all again. Jason sits frozen and silent in his office, eyes wide with fear, and nods when Michael calls him Jianyu. 

Michael assigns somebody else to do the surveillance on him for this version, and stays far away from the yurt and its drooping willows and even his favorite bridge. He thinks that maybe, last time, he paid a little too much attention to Jason. That’s where everything went wrong. He got distracted playing with Dumb Human Tricks over there, didn’t keep his focus on the real problem, and then she ruined everything just like always.

This time, he’s going to put all his effort into making Eleanor’s life a quiet nightmare. _This_ is gonna be the one. 


	4. Tahani

Bonding with Tahani is always easy.

Michael understands why, in an academic sense. She spent her whole life on Earth seeking validation, and she never quite got it. So of course she looks to him, the angelic authority of her eternal afterlife, to finally tell her that she’s good enough. 

He toes the line: kind enough to keep her on the hook, but never quite enough that she’s secure in his affections. It’s elegant in its simplicity. Torturing Tahani feels most like an art, a dance where he knows every step. He _adores_ it.

Tonight, Tahani's throwing a party for the neighborhood's six-month anniversary. Naturally Michael is the guest of honor. For the first time in decades, he’s actually _excited_ for one of her parties. Six months! _Six whole months_ of continuous torture! What a milestone! He’s been giddy for weeks. There’s moments where he can’t quite suppress his smile - it makes him want to have a proper party with the crew, the kind with arson and giblets. He’d do it, too, if he thought they’d celebrate _with_ him and not just whisper to each other about how he might fail next...

...doesn’t matter. This attempt is the one. Once they see that, they’ll come back around. And in the meantime, at least he gets _some_ kind of party. 

It’s a nice little break, too, to have such an easy torture laid out at his feet. Tahani asked Michael two weeks ago what he wanted for his party, and that was his entire job practically done.

"You know, I've always liked unicorns," he told her on Monday. "Maybe we could have some of those? Oh - a _petting zoo!_ "

On Wednesday, he turned up in the half-built paddock with, "No, no, I did some research and I don't know if a petting zoo sends the right message. Can we do something else? Maybe, I don't know, a carnival?"

Thursday, he caught her arm as she directed Jason in setting up the last of the carnival tents. "So sorry, Tahani, but I took a poll of the neighborhood. You know what's really in right now? _Masquerade balls_."

And so it goes. Angel Michael means well, but he’s just so eager to please everybody that he can never settle on an idea! Tahani throws all her plans out the window one by one, chasing after whatever elusive thing might truly make him _happy_. In the end, she has nothing prepared at all. 

Stressed as she is, Michael knows she’s more than capable of throwing a last-minute banquet. So on the morning of the party, he saunters up to her mansion to interfere once again. His excuse is that he’s excited; his intent is to catch her before she can set anything up at all, to force her to delegate all the preparation to Jason or Eleanor or somebody equally disastrous. No matter what they do, it’ll never be up to her standards. Not for something as important as this. 

It’s early in the morning yet. The air is cool with the onset of his simulated autumn. He’s painted all the trees scarlet and gold, and scattered dried leaves underfoot wherever the humans might step. They crunch underneath his feet as he walks. It’s a satisfying sound. After checking for any witnesses, he even kicks a pile of them, showering color over the cobblestones. Yeah, he gets why humans like the fall.

There’s no answer when he knocks at Tahani’s door. Is she still asleep? Grinning in anticipation, Michael tries the handle.

Fortunately, the door’s unlocked. Unfortunately, it seems he was a little too slow, or else Tahani worked late into last night. The grand foyer is entirely decorated. With no humans to see him, he takes a moment to genuinely look around, his footsteps echoing on the marble. The decor is Tahani-standard, nothing special. But the tablecloths are a soft sky blue, and the balloons are all in cool shades that remind him of his favorite ties. There’s a dance floor, and a record player in place of her usual modern sound equipment. Maybe she noticed the vintage tech in his office?

Michael plucks a lavender carnation from a centerpiece, and idly holds it up to his lapel as he weaves his way towards the grand staircase. It makes for a lovely pop of color. But he’s here to be quietly disappointed in the party and in Tahani, so he ignites it in his hand and lets the ashes stream down onto the floor.

The sound of sobbing leads him up to Tahani's sitting room. He rolls his eyes; of _course_ she _had_ to be melodramatically sad. If he leads with his original plan now, he’s going to look like a huge dink. There’s nothing else for it - he’s got to be _nice_ for a bit.

"Tahani!" he exclaims, pushing his way into the room. "I’m so sorry, I know it’s early - is everything alright?"

"Michael!" She bolts upright, dabbing fiercely at her eyes. "Of course! Everything is wonderful!"

She won't look at him as he settles next to her on the fainting couch. Of course he loves to see her miserable, but Michael’s still a little surprised. He hadn't thought she'd be this upset before the stupid party even _happened._ "But you're crying." He frowns and puts an arm around her shoulders.

"I know!" She wails, letting him pull her against his chest. "It's just - I wanted so badly to make this night special, and everything's gone all wrong! You've done so much for us, I only wanted to do something for you!"

"Oh, Tahani." He hugs her, keeping her in a position where she can’t see him roll his eyes. "There, there, don't cry! I'm sure this party is going to be perfect. It just means so much that you want to celebrate this with me." 

"Do you really think so? It's just - " She pulls away. Michael hurries to look concerned, but she’s not paying attention to him; she’s wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. It's a curiously inelegant gesture. There's a smear of mascara left along her cheekbone, and a matching one on the back of her hand.

He furrows his brow. For the first time since he got here, the expression’s genuine. Everything Tahani does is a performance; he's always thought they were a little similar that way. But for a second, it’s like she’s forgotten he’s even there.

"I know how important your first neighborhood is to you,” she continues, clasping his hand. “And you’ve done so well! You deserve a celebration, and you deserve for it to be perfect! I couldn't bear the thought of ruining it for you." 

He smiles, burying his confusion. "You couldn't _possibly_ ruin this for me, Tahani." She couldn’t. He’s going to do _that_ himself.

"You're so kind, Michael." She leans forward, wrapping him in another hug. He holds her in turn, lightly carding his fingers through her hair, the way he's learned humans find soothing.

"It's nothing. Really." God, he wishes she could get the joke. He'd be able to laugh out loud! "Now, I'm sure we'll both be pretty busy tonight. Hostess, guest of honor, and all that. But make sure to save me a dance, okay?" He pulls back to give her his best paternal twinkle. "I'd really hate to miss that."

Tahani, her tears dried, smiles. "Of course, Michael. Could you - perhaps we could talk about something else for a few minutes? I don’t think I’ve ever asked what you did before you were an Architect.”

“Oh! Well!” Michael always goes way, way back for these stories. He can’t figure out how to talk about his career without just making everything up. “Have I ever told you about the time before Earth formed? I used to push clouds of space dust together, and sit and watch them for _ages…_ ”

Pointless conversation is a decent stalling tactic. Michael manages to wring a good hour out of it, reminiscing about the glittering clouds he saw spin and collapse into stars, until Tahani finally chases him out to work on preparations. 

Michael smiles and reassures and takes his leave, and then goes back to his office to start his torture report for the day. The reports have all been fake for a long time, but he weaves in real details whenever he can. It makes for a better lie. Maybe if he’s ever caught, he’ll be able to at least point to those fleeting moments of triumph.

Not that it’ll matter. Shawn already thinks so little of him; nothing he does will ever impressive enough to save him from retirement. But until then, Michael’s not sure he could keep going without those good days to look back on.

He opens his Tahani folder for this attempt and begins a new entry:

_Tahani’s torture is going well! She looks up to me, which is obviously stupid of her._

Michael drums his pen against the desk, reading the lines back. It's not at all a new development; this has always been one of the most reliable ways to get at Tahani. But right now, it’s sitting oddly with him. Maybe it’s just that weird turn things took today. He has a growing feeling that he’s made some kind of mistake somewhere. She let that graceful facade fall today. How could she possibly be _that_ comfortable around him, if he can crush her heart with a few choice words? 

Looking up to check the time, his gaze falls on his collection of human artifacts. His Minion doll has faded to pale, pale yellow. It’s missing a button. He’s thought about repairing it, but the others would notice if he did that. They’d think it was frivolous. They’d be _right_ , too. 

Michael frowns and flips the folder shut. He'll just finish the report later.

* * *

That night, he arrives at the party just late enough to worry Tahani. It’s a human party. Nothing's on fire, there's no screaming, and he doubts he'll get to jab anyone with a poker anytime soon. But it…

The ceiling is draped with billowing black fabric, funereal except that it’s dotted with glittering white jewels. It looks like a woven night sky stretching between the spiraled pillars of Tahani’s home. Little white fairy lights literally dance through the air, doubtless courtesy of Janet. His memories of the distant past are fresh after their conversation this morning; the sight of all this puts him right back there, if only for a moment. Michael’s not exactly nostalgic for those days - it could get dull before there were humans to toy with - but they were...peaceful, perhaps, in a way nothing has been since.

Perhaps he’s given Tahani too little credit. 

He looks at it for longer than he should. Tahani herself is the one to grab his attention. “Michael! Here you are!” 

“Tahani! Did you do all of this in one day?”

She smiles and flips her hair in mock modesty. “Well, I had _some_ help. But yes, it was mostly me.” Her gaze flicks to him in a moment of sudden anxiety. Yes, there it is, that’s what he expected. “Do you like it?”

He’d intended to be disappointed. If this were the party she’d set up this morning, he would have been. But would that be too obviously cruel, now? It doesn’t seem quite plausible, and even if Tahani didn’t suspect a thing, she’d tell Eleanor. “It’s beautiful!” he exclaims. “I’m very impressed!” 

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Tahani beams. She’s obviously thrilled, but it’s fine. Disappointment wasn’t his _only_ plan for tonight. Michael ducks into a little bow, offering her a hand.

“Well, then. May I have the first dance?”

Tahani laughs and accepts, and he leads her into a waltz. Or, as it turns out, he leads her into maybe the first two steps of a waltz, and then he just spins her around the dance floor in random patterns. The other demons know well enough to stay out of his way, but he bumps into Chidi as they go, and spins Tahani nearly into a drink table.

“Michael, dear.” Tahani’s voice is strained. “I’m only curious, but - “

He treads on her toes, drawing out a little hiss of pain. “Yes?”

“Have you...ever waltzed before?”

“I haven’t! Angels don’t dance at parties - we stand in a circle and emanate good feelings at each other, so that the vibrations will carry down to Earth and inspire humans into random acts of generosity and selflessness. But this is a cute little activity, too!”

“Right…” Tahani frowns for a second, but soldiers onward. “Would you like me to teach you how it’s done?”

“Is this not right?” Michael gives her a bemused smile, like he’s only humoring her. “Sure, if you want to.”

“Wonderful!” Tahani shifts her grip on him, taking the lead. “Now, we’ll start with a simple box step. Just watch what I do.” 

“Oh. Oh, I see!” He follows her instructions, keeping his eyes on their feet as she guides him: back, left, forward, one-two-three. It’s not entirely unfamiliar, but he really never _did_ bother to learn. Bad dancing is a hilarious form of torture! But maybe, just for tonight, it might be nice to give her one good dance. Half of one, at least, before he yanks it away. That’ll only make it worse, right?

Even though he’s learning it backwards, she’s right that the steps aren’t complicated. Before long, he’s able to do it without focusing on it. Tahani gracefully lets him lead again, and he picks up the pace. The waltz is hardly a traditional demonic dance, but it's actually fun once he gets going. They weave across the floor, spinning and dodging the other dancers, and little floating stars orbit in their wake. 

Over her shoulder, he catches sight of the clock. It’s already later than he meant to let this party go on. It’s okay - a good party in the Good Place makes sense - but so many plans will be ruined if he lets it continue. Best to end it now. 

Spinning Tahani around, he scans the crowd until he manages to catch Glenn’s eye, and winks. It's the signal for Glenn to knock one of the tables over, and for Vicky to make sure that the falling candles light up the drapes. The flames lick up the walls with unnatural speed. The delicate star canopies are consumed within minutes, glittering jewels and glowing cinders raining down alike upon the unprotected guests.

Michael takes charge and gets everyone out safely. Of course he does; this is the _Good_ Place. But the fire burns down most of Tahani's house. Tomorrow he'll send her to live with Eleanor. They've been getting along better lately, but their budding friendship will never be able to survive cohabitation. Eleanor will disappoint Chidi with whatever mean things she does, and Tahani will come out of it feeling more alone than ever.

That's tomorrow. Tonight, he sits out on the lawn with her after the fire's extinguished, drapes his coat around her shoulders, and lets her cry into his shoulder. "You really should have been more careful," he murmurs. "All those open flames." When she starts sobbing harder, he pretends not to notice, but he does snake an arm idly around her as he looks up at the sky. His stars look nice tonight.

(Two centuries later, when their last night in his neighborhood begins to creep towards morning, he asks her for the last dance. Her hand is light in his, and for a dizzying moment he doesn't understand himself at all.)


	5. Eleanor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is an awkward time to post this, huh

In Attempt 822, Michael and Eleanor are _besties_.

The theory is simple. If he’s her friend, she won’t _want_ to believe that he’s torturing her. He’s been friendly with her in most of the reboots, of course, but he’s never really been her _most_ important person. That’s Chidi, usually, or Tahani. But they don’t already know Eleanor like he does; with every new reboot, they become strangers again. He should be able to usurp them easily _!_

So after he’s finished introducing her to her new home, he beckons her to join him on the couch. “I’m so glad you like the place, Eleanor. But I’m afraid I have a little bad news now.”

Her eyes go wide. She’s still off-balance, uneasy in the modest sundress and bright-eyed innocence of Good Eleanor. Another human probably wouldn’t notice - she’s still a good liar - but he’s seen it hundreds of times. “Yeah?”

Michael pauses, looking down at his hands until he sees her start to fidget out of the corner of his eye. Messing with her in this state is always fun. “You may have noticed that most of the other residents are paired off with their soulmates. But your soulmate is still alive on Earth. You’re going to be alone here for a while.”

“Oh!” Eleanor’s quick to shift her relief into disappointment. “That’s too bad! But it’s good they’re alive, isn’t it?”

“Yeah...I guess you’re right. That’s very selfless of you.”

A moment of triumph flashes across her face before she schools it back. “Can you tell me anything about them, though? I’m _super_ curious.”

“I’m afraid that’s against regulations. The soulmate bond is very important - I wouldn’t want to meddle.”

The truth, of course, is that he hasn’t planned that far ahead. In this experiment, and especially with Eleanor, making long-term plans just leads to disappointment. But suffice it to say, Good Eleanor’s soulmate arriving is _not_ going to be good for Eleanor. It’s working out pretty well for him even now; he hasn’t heard a peep out of Vicky since he promised her the role. 

Eleanor frowns, miming disappointment again. “Okay. Well, I hope...that they have a long and happy life.”

Yeah, he _bets_ she does. He smiles encouragingly. “That’s the spirit! But if you’re ever lonely, Eleanor, or you just want someone to talk to, please know - “

He reaches out to cover her hand with his, and pretends not to notice her reflexive flinch. “ - I’m always here for you.”

* * *

She doesn’t take him up on the offer immediately. Michael expected that. He’s the one she’s hiding from, after all, and she’s not confident in her new role yet. 

But Eleanor’s clever too. Just as he wants to gain her trust, she’ll want to gain _his._ It’s a little over a week before she arrives at his office door, hands in her pockets in a perfect picture of sheepishness. 

“Hey, Michael. I was just wondering...do you wanna hang out sometime? It’s just that everyone else has their soulmates around, so - “

“Of course, Eleanor! I’m always happy to spend time with a resident!” He pushes his chair back and stands. “Do you want to go do something right now? I’m not really that busy, just inventing a few new flavors of popsicle. Does ‘Warm Puppy Pile’ sound good to you?”

“Sounds great!” Eleanor grins. “Hey, maybe I could help you out! Taste-test them or something? If you need it, of course.”

“Oh!" Michael gasps, "A real human’s perspective - that would be wonderful! Please, please, come in! I’ll whip one right up for you!”

This wasn’t the first friendship activity he’d planned, but why not? Michael brings in some more comfortable chairs, and they spend an hour or two sampling popsicle flavors. He sticks to things he knows she’ll like. Whether they were in frozen yogurt or smoothies or, that one time, Ikea meatballs, she’s always enjoyed the same sorts of flavors. Week Two is far too early to do much torture, anyway.

There _are_ a few tiny jabs he just can’t resist (“Mother’s Hugs - hey, you can tell me if I got that feeling right!”). But she doesn’t seem to think much of it, so everything’s fine.

After several samples, Eleanor finally decides to let her guard down a little. “You got anything a little less sweet? More...I don’t know…”

“Bitter?”

She scrunches her face up. “Maybe tart?”

Michael nods. That’s one way the food _is_ rigged. Sure, some flavors have universal appeal: a full cell phone battery, a good night’s sleep. Even Michael enjoys those. But that’s just a small sampling, and the others are far too sugary-sweet. Child’s Laughter? Heart-to-Heart with a Friend? He could be ill just thinking about it, and he's sure Eleanor’s the same. “Hmmm.” He frowns in thought. There’s no harm in indulging her, as long as he doesn’t go too far in the other direction. “What about a cozy neighborhood bar? The kind where everyone knows your name?”

“That sounds _so_ great!” Eleanor prefers a good dive bar, but her enthusiasm seems less fake than he expected. She _must_ be bored. “But hey - can you make _anything_ into a popsicle?”

“Pretty much. Why?”

“Even something you've never experienced before? Like, uh...ooh, like watching a bunch of people fall down on America’s Funniest Home Videos? That’s just such a human-specific ritual!”

Michael grins. Yeah, okay, that’s not the most angelic thing he could do, but he likes the nerve! She even presented him with a built-in excuse! He can bend a little, can’t he? In the name of “friendship”? 

“I bet I can!” He snaps his fingers, reaching out over-around her with a few seventh-dimensional tentacles at the same time. It’s easier than usual to scoop up the little bubbles of vindictive glee; maybe it’s because he understands them? He likes watching humans hurt themselves too. Something about it is _way_ funnier than just hurting them yourself!

Before the snap is complete, he’s already compressed the emotions and crystallized them into an ice-shaped four-dimensional existence. “Here you are. How’s that?”

Eleanor crunches down on the popsicle, taking half of it off in one go. “Mmmm! Oh, man, that really hits the spot! Not that people falling down is funny, but you know - it’s just one of those human things.”

Michael nods. “Of course. I understand completely.”

* * *

It’s funny - sometimes Michael _is_ certain that he understands Eleanor completely. Other times, he doesn’t get her at all. Right now, though, he’s on an upswing.

The problem, he thinks, is that something bizarre happens when you put Eleanor and Chidi together. He understands both of them separately. She’s a self-centered trash human; he’s an anxious wreck of a nerd. Separately, he can handle them.

Together, though, there’s some sort of absolutely _insane_ chemical reaction. Eleanor starts to try, when she never tried at anything in her life. Once or twice, Chidi's grown confident enough to stare down Michael himself. He's seen hundreds of variations on that same theme, and still he can never predict the exact shape of it, or the exact way it’s going to blow up in his face.

But this version of Eleanor hasn’t even _met_ Chidi. He’s paired up with Jason, which is torture enough for him. Now, and for the foreseeable future, Michael and Eleanor are on their own.

Weekly movie nights become a fixture - always at Eleanor’s house, since Michael hasn’t got one. She introduces him to, in her words, “the classics of human cinema”. Occasionally she lets her true tastes shine through, and it’s something he’s seen before. Movies like that tend to find their way into the Bad Place _somehow._

More often, though, she puts on something he’s never even heard of: Wall-E, The Princess Bride, Willy Wonka. She thinks a stupid, silly angel like him would like a soft, happy movie, where things are bright and colorful and people make _friends._ He plays along. He takes off his coat and loosens his tie and sits on the couch next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder. They share a bowl of popcorn, and he marvels over the artistry and the animation. "Humans are so creative!" he likes to say, eyes sparkling at just the right moments. "Look at all this beautiful work! There must have been so many wonderful artists working on this!" And then he makes her sit through the entirety of the credits. Every single time. With frequent pauses for reading.

(Maybe sometimes, it’s not so hard to fake appreciation. He _does_ like colors and light and music, all those pretty things humans can play with and demons can’t - but being easy doesn’t mean it’s _real._ )

In return, he takes her on whatever special outings strike her fancy, just the two of them. With all his power, it’s easy to impress her. They spend a day riding dragons; Michael’s fake human-heart hammers from the height, but they end up laughing about the wild tangles the wind makes of their hair. They go on a ship, something desert-dwelling Eleanor’s never done before, and end up playing pirates. After a little convincing, he even lets her plan a fun movie-style bank heist, and honestly? She probably _could_ rob a bank!

Every night, Michael walks back to his office with a smile on his face. He _knew_ this was a good plan. For once, even his reports are fun to fill out! Everything is great!

* * *

One day, he goes to visit Eleanor and finds Chidi already there.

“Hey, Michael!” Eleanor keeps the door mostly closed; Michael only really gets the slightest glimpse of Chidi pacing up and down her living room. “We’re actually doing something right now, can I take a rain check today?”

“Of course! We’ll catch up another time.” Michael turns to go, disappointment roiling beneath his friendly smile. This isn’t right. Chidi isn’t scheduled to interact with Eleanor for another few months at _least._ Even if they met by pure chance, why on earth would Eleanor want to spend time with _him_ instead of _Michael?_ He's so _dull!_

Once he’s sure he's out of sight, he frowns down at a flowerbed beside the road, vaporizing it in a fit of pique. No - an act of completely justified annoyance. When he finds out who was supposed to be corralling Chidi, he’s going to have their _head_.

Without Eleanor, there’s nothing for him to do today except paperwork. Michael heads back towards his office, pasting an easy smile back on his face once he starts passing other people. He doesn’t notice if they’re the other humans or just some demons. He’s thinking - how did this happen so fast? Maybe they aren’t even studying ethics? Maybe they’re doing something _actually_ fun, fun enough to tempt Eleanor away for a moment. That would be better; it would mean she'll come back when she gets bored. Or maybe it’s some of those gross human things those two occasionally get up to. _Ugh._ He kinda hopes that _was_ it - he’d be _glad_ to get left out of that.

Arriving at his office, he sits and flips restlessly through his files, looking for something else to focus on with little success. It’ll be fine. It’ll be _fine._ He's spent his entire career without a singular long-term torture victim; he can definitely keep himself occupied without one. Besides - Chidi sucks! Eleanor will realize soon enough that Michael’s better company, and then it'll all go back to normal. 

* * *

Eleanor does _not_ realize that Michael’s better company!

She begins to spend more and more time with Chidi. Sometimes, a full _week_ will go by where she doesn’t hang out with Michael at all! And he is _furious!_

How could she do this? After all the time and effort he invested in her, she’s just going to start ignoring him for some long-winded, sweaty nerd? Michael spends his evenings fuming in his office as he works through his backlog of reports, and his days snapping at his employees. This is all their fault. They should have prevented this!

He avoids Chidi entirely. He _knows_ he'd snap at him.

Instead, he tries to bury himself in torturing Tahani. It’s not quite as fun as usual. He makes her cry a couple of times, but that's just standard. There's no _zing_ to it.

He's alone in his office again, working on a plot to get Chidi to join Jason's high-altitude monastic retreat, when Eleanor finally knocks on his door. "Hey, buddy! How've you been?" 

Michael looks her over. Her hair is tied back in a different style, and she's wearing a shirt he doesn't recognize. "I'm fine." He needs to be softer. He _knows_ he needs to be softer, but he's not feeling very in-character. "Been a while, Eleanor. Do you need something?"

"Nah, not really. I was just wondering if you wanted to come see a movie sometime soon?"

Michael brightens. But it's an _effort._ “Oh, I’d love to! When’s good, right now? I’m not busy right now.”

“Sure!” Eleanor grins, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Now’s fine. I just feel like I haven’t seen you for a while, you know? Been _super_ busy lately.”

“I noticed!” Was there too much aggression in that passive-aggression? Michael rolls his shoulders and adds: “But I’m glad you and Chidi are having fun. _His_ soulmate says you’ve been spending a lot of time together!”

Eleanor hums noncommittally, and turns to lead the way back to her house. It’s around six o’clock, and the sun is setting over the ocean. He’s been playing with the water refraction equations recently, and now he thinks it shows; the sky’s a bold orange edging into violet, and the waves on the sea are making a zig-zag pattern of pink, black, pink. Michael smiles to himself. Maybe Eleanor’s finally sorry. Maybe she’ll even pick something pretty she thinks he’ll like. He won’t, of course, but the consideration would be nice.

“I’ll make some popcorn,” he decides as they enter her home. It’s just as he recalls. There’s no blackboard in sight, no ethics textbooks. Michael smiles. “There’s still some in the pantry?”

“Yep.” Eleanor follows him into the kitchen. He hopes she’s gonna break out some booze. “Right in there.” 

Michael leans into the pantry, reaching up to snag a bag from the top shelf. “I think I’ll put some extra butter on this. I’m feeling a little - “

He turns, and the knife Eleanor was aiming at his back plunges instead into his stomach.

The blow knocks the air out of him. He chokes, coughing reflexively. It's not the sad wet sound a human would make, the sound of blood rushing from punctured organs to bubble up and out the throat. There’s nothing inside him. But still, it hurts like a _motherforker!_ “Eleanor, what on _earth?”_ he breathes.

She backs off quickly, but oh, he knows _that_ expression. “Don’t pull that with me! I know everything. We went out to Mindy’s, and she told us _all_ about the creepy little torture dungeon you’re running here.”

Well. Fork. How did he not notice her going to Mindy's, _again?_ He'd thought this was all going so well, and now - 

He smiles slowly, trying to savor the look on his face. She doesn't look all that afraid. Well...his heart’s not in it tonight. “And you thought _that_ would hurt _me_?” He tugs the knife out of his body in one practiced motion, grinning a little wider at Eleanor’s flinch.

“It was worth a shot!” 

Michael presses a hand to the tear in his skinsuit. It comes away black with burning, stinking ink. “Great," he snarls, false blood rushing to his face as he imagines what the others will say, "you figured it out. Now I'm just gonna wipe all your memories, and do it _all_ over again. Does that make you feel good, Eleanor? Have you accomplished anything?"

She bristles up at him, five feet and one inch of pure rage. "Have _you?_ ‘Cause you’re right here in it with us! Are you even _trying_ anymore?" 

“You always seem perfectly miserable.” Michael smirks. "Unless you _enjoyed your time here?_ "

Eleanor snorts and folds her arms. “Obviously not.” 

"You did!" Michael crows, bouncing on his heels. Those are tells! He knows her tells like he knows the back of his hand! "Oh, Eleanor, was it all our _quality time?_ Did you think we were _friends?_ Ha! When in your _life_ did anyone ever go out of their way to make friends with _you?"_

"So - well, what about you?” Eleanor blusters. “You spend all your time hanging out with us, going on _day trips,_ so that you can be a little benchy at us sometimes? That doesn’t sound like torture to me, man, it _sounds_ like you just got lazy."

"Oh, shut up. You’ve been a real pain the ash, you know that?” He waves his hands, mocking her voice: “ _Oh, Michael, I’m so lonely, come entertain me!_ Watching all your dumb little movies was practically torture for _me._ " 

“Bullshirt. You were _excited_ to come over here tonight. Don’t say you weren’t!” She jabs a finger in his face to silence his denial. “I’ve figured out all your tells, man, and you were _not_ lying about that.”

“You’re projecting.” Michael gestures sharply with the knife. Eleanor’s eyes go wide, and she skitters back a few steps. Michael blinks in surprise, and the knife automatically lowers. What was that? Did she think he was going to _stab_ her? Of course he wasn’t! 

“I bet _you_ were looking forward to spending time with _me_!” he blusters. If he was trying to stab her, she’d be stabbed right now, _obviously_. “I bet Chidi just talked about dumb old Aristotle the entire time you were together.” 

Eleanor stares at him for a moment. Then she laughs. She actually has the nerve to _laugh in his face!_ “Oh my god! Can you seriously not see what you’re doing right now? You wanna talk about projection, buddy, why don’t you - “

Michael snaps his fingers.

* * *

He was supposed to be alone, but the others are never far away. Michael isn’t surprised to run into Vicky just outside Eleanor’s house, where she was clearly watching through the glass doors from behind a bush. “What gives, man?” she asks. “Why didn’t you stab her back? That was a total freebie!”

Michael runs his pocket square along the knife’s blade. It smolders where it touches the ink. “I’m trying to prove a point, Vicky. _Psychological_ torture, remember?”

“She’s just gonna forget it anyway,” she snorts. “You’re losing your touch.” 

“Just get the others. You all know your roles for the next one.” Vicky rolls her eyes and wanders off to whisper with a few of her little flunkies. Rudeness about him, no doubt. Michael’s used to that. He ignores them all.

Back in his office, he sits and studies the knife quietly for a while. Despite the lingering pain, he can’t help but smile. You gotta give Eleanor that much - she's got a lot of nerve.

Leaning back in his chair, he peers down at his stomach. His skinsuit is still stitching itself back together, all the little carbon fibers reaching out to bridge the gap. He won’t be able to start the next attempt until it’s finished; he can probably even get away with putting off Janet’s murder for a little while.

Michael goes to the window, brushes aside his plants and pulls back the curtains. Nobody's outside; all he can see is an empty cobblestone street, waiting to be remade into a new and hopefully better version of itself. He goes to check the lock on the door - he's learned his lesson about that one. Once he's sure it's secure, he settles down in his guest chair, draws up a screen, and queues a Disney movie at random from the previously watched list. 

It's just to spite Eleanor. That’s all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still processing the finale, if I'm being honest, hit me with ya thoughts if you want. here's [some](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kiebGJF7sXE) [tunes.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2TE0DjdNqI) take it easy, y'all.


	6. Chidi

The last person who could've called themselves Michael's "teacher" was Shawn.

So maybe it rankles a little, that Chidi so confidently slots himself into that role. A fellow demon, an expert in their craft, that’s all one thing. But a _human?_ What does _he_ know?

Well - ethics. Chidi is the resident expert at all things ethical. Michael's been forced to admit that much. But that still doesn't mean he enjoys doing homework, writing papers, taking tests - like he’s some sort of little human, seeking _approval._

He doesn’t care what Chidi thinks. And he _doesn’t_ care that he keeps failing.

He has improved _,_ since the trolley incident. The next paper he gets back has a C writ large across the top. “Dude!” Jason exclaims, dropping down onto the couch next to Michael. “That’s like, two away from an A! You beat like, twenty _whole_ other letters!”

Eleanor glances over from the chair, where she’s sitting pretty with an A. “Not bad, bud.”

“Mm-hmmm.” Michael looks sidelong at Tahani, who’s focused on calculating her new average in the margins of her paper. It’s the exact same equation he already ran mentally. “Well, it’s just a dumb little three-page thing. I used to do a thousand pages, easy, for all my reports.”

“We’re gonna stick to three!” Chidi claps his hands together. “Sounds like no one’s got any really time-consuming tortures coming up, so let’s say next week for the next assignment? Three pages on the nature of evil. Oh, and - if anyone has any questions, or just wants to talk a little about their topic, you can always come see me outside of class. It’s like eternal office hours!”

He’s acting like he’s addressing everyone. He is not looking at Michael.

Michael’s not an idiot. He folds a sharp crease in his paper, and then another, until it’s a tiny square that he tucks in his pocket. “I’ve got _real_ work to do. I’ll see you all later.”

“Oh...okay.” Chidi has the nerve to look surprised. “See you.”

Tahani catches at Michael’s wrist as he stands. There’s something like a question in her eyes, but all she says is, “We’re still on for my torture tomorrow morning, yes?”

“Yes, yes.” He tugs his hand away, straightens his cuffs. “You know the plan. It hasn’t changed. I’ll be there at eight-thirty, act like I’m early.” And, with that, he stalks out the door.

Outside, he rolls his shoulders and puts his angel mask back on. It’s subtle: a loosening of the shoulders, a slight upturn to his mouth, an airy manner and a bounce in his step. These days, it's turned into a performance solely for the other demons. It should feel weirder than it does. It snuck up on him a little, the way he’s created a persona for even his own people.

Internally, he’s still fuming. Chidi’s such a condescending jackash. Michael already _knows_ he’s not catching onto this stuff the way the humans do; there’s no reason to rub it in. At least Shawn was always direct about negative feedback. If you weren’t worth Shawn’s time, you heard all about it. But Chidi’s just... _toying_ with him. Drawing it all out.

Michael’s life sucks enough without _that._ The day he goes to “office hours” is the day he’ll roll back into HQ and turn himself in.

* * *

Michael fully intends to finish his paper that night and just not think about philosophy for the rest of the week. He could use the break.

But the hour he set aside for schoolwork turns instead into several hours of playing six-dimensional Solitaire. By the time he gets to the silver rank, he knows the writing just isn’t going to happen.

He could call Janet for a chat. He’s done that more often lately, now that she’s in on all his secrets. But she knows everything about _everything_ , and he doesn’t want to deal with that right now.

Instead, he decides to go for a midnight walk. He’s always liked walking around his neighborhood, and the middle of the night is really the only time he can do it now. During the day, there’s always _someone_ watching. Whether it’s humans or demons, he always has to know how to act. But at night, the humans sleep, so the demons take a break. They all spend it in little groups, locked away in homes or shops, whatever backstage areas they have to be themselves in. Michael’s always left alone in his office then, not really worth anybody’s attention until dawn.

The streetlights cast a scattered yellow glow over the cobblestones. Cicada calls grate through the air. They were intended as a constant minor torture, but by now, the humans must have fallen asleep already in spite of them. Michael turns down their volume and brings up the crickets instead. There: that’s nicer. He sends some of the clouds spiraling away while he’s at it, for a better view of the stars. Torture has its place, but at this hour, the neighborhood is just for him.

So. The nature of evil.

Most of Chidi’s philosopher heroes discussed evil from a theological point of view: God, original sin, things like that. But the six of them can dispense with all that nonsense. There is no God. Nothing in the universe cares for any of them.

That’s probably why all the assigned readings were contemporary. Modern philosophers have three general schools of thought. Action-based accounts hold that people are evil based on their actions, affect-based accounts think it’s to do with their feelings, and motivation-based accounts argue that it’s all in their motivations. Michael figures the truth is probably a mix of all three. Just look at him! He does evil things, and he does them joyfully. Even when he’s acted kind, it’s always been viciously motivated.

And yet Chidi says he doesn’t believe in inherent evil.

Michael shakes his head, nudging a few stars back into place. How can you say things like that when you live surrounded by demons? When one of them spends half his time in your own classroom?

It almost seems like it must’ve been some sort of jab. He can’t think of any other reason Chidi would make Michael write about all the different ways his very nature is repugnant to humans.

The night is absolutely perfect now, cool and calm, with glittering stars above and the soft sounds of wildlife below. His wanderings have brought him to the edge of town. Eleanor’s house is a gaudy shadow lurking in the dark - sort of like a killer clown itself? Michael glances around. There’s still nobody else here, and no movement in any of the humans’ windows.

He conjures a bench and sits. Maybe he’s being unreasonable. If Chidi _truly_ wanted to humiliate him, he’d have done it after Michael apologized. That’s just what public apologies _are._ Despite what the humans may think, it wasn’t his first time. He’s been forced to apologize to plenty of managers before. They all spent years raking him over the coals afterwards; that’s just how it goes. Michael had anticipated the same here - he’d been weirdly nervous about it - but nobody’s really mentioned the incident since.

Is this just a subtler form of retribution? Even he has to admit, a long vengeance campaign doesn’t sound a lot like Chidi. Is it all just in his head?

In the back of his mind, a little voice echoes, one that sounds a _lot_ like Eleanor. _You felt small and dumb, and you lashed out._ Michael feels a stab of reflexive anger. Maybe that just means it’s sort of true.

He stands. Then he sits again, suddenly anxious. Nobody sees him, but Michael feels frustrated with himself nonetheless. This is dumb. He’s being dumb. He needs to make a decision and stick to it! He gets up again, walks around the back of the house, and goes up to bang on Chidi’s window before he can stop himself.

“Michael?” Chidi rubs his eyes as he swings the window open. “Wh - it’s almost four, why are you here?”

“Because I didn’t want to knock on the door and wake Eleanor. Have some _consideration,_ Chidi.”

Chidi scrambles aside as Michael ducks into the room. “This is the second story _,_ how did you - “ He glances outside as the very tall, extremely localized hill Michael made himself starts to recede back into the earth. “Nevermind. What - what do you want?”

“You said eternal office hours, didn’t you?” Michael deliberately holds Chidi’s gaze, tilting his head down at him. “Unless you didn’t _mean_ that…?”

“Uh…” Chidi blinks, then nods slowly. “Okay. Sure. Can I put my glasses on first?”

Michael waves a hand beneficently, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Chidi’s obviously flustered. He fumbles with his glasses, and tries fruitlessly to flatten out the wrinkles in his pajamas. Seeing him caught off-guard gives Michael a nasty curl of satisfaction. He doesn’t want to get kicked out of the class entirely. Even if he hates the actual _class_ part, he likes the before and after: hanging out with everybody in Eleanor’s living room, not having to look over his shoulder for once. But he _loves_ getting some of his own back.

“Okay,” Chidi repeats. He joins Michael on the bed, leaning back against the headboard to face him. “What’s up?”

What _is_ up? Michael came here in a fit of determination; now, he realizes that he did not take the time to formulate his complaint. Chidi doesn’t say anything more. He lets the silence linger, until Michael finally ventures, “I’m having a little trouble getting started on my paper.”

“That’s not due for another week. I mean - I’ll help you if you need it, but you just showed up here in the middle of the night. Is this _actually_ about that?”

Suddenly, despite his dumb pajamas and smudged glasses, Chidi’s gaze feels altogether too keen. Michael can’t hold it. He looks away, down at the crappy bedsheets beneath his palm. He’d forced them on Eleanor by claiming they were nostalgic, from her supposed humble childhood. Up close, they _are_ scratchy. “It’s, ah.” He drums his fingers. It’s bad enough that he came here - how dumb is he gonna sound if he _actually asks questions?_

That’s the point, though. Leaving now would look worse than just plunging ahead. “Why the nature of evil?” he asks, the first question that really comes to his mind.

“It’s a pretty basic philosophical question. Humans think about it a lot.”

Michael snorts. “ _We_ don’t. We already know the answer - and you do, too! You are _literally_ speaking to a demon right now.”

Chidi winces. “Yeah, that’s why I tried to take all the religious perspectives off the syllabus for this part. You can’t remove it entirely, because of the historical context, but it’s honestly kinda weird now.”

“Okay, but how am I supposed to write three pages on a simple fact? Do you want me to just draw a self-portrait? Are you good with headshots, because I can do _that_ right now.”

He snaps his fingers. Chidi hands the signed headshot back to Michael without looking at it. “No. Michael, this assignment wasn’t intended to be about you personally. You aren’t the personification of evil.”

“You say that _very_ confidently.” Michael tries to enjoy the way Chidi’s expression falls. He even tries to put on his old grin. It doesn’t feel as good as it used to. “Is that why you’re keeping me in class? You think I’m going to _stop_ being evil?”

Chidi lifts his chin, eyes flickering in thought. Before the motion’s complete, he’s turned it into a nod. “Yes. I do. At least, I think you _could._ ”

Michael frowns. Oh, _this_ is the thing he’s going to be decisive about? “What about Russell?”

“Russell?”

“Luke Russell! _He_ wrote that evil people are ‘beyond communication and negotiation, reform and redemption’. It’s in _Evil: A Philosophical Investigation_ , that was on the list.”

Chidi gapes at him for a second. “And you _read_ it?” Michael bristles, but Chidi raises a hand before he can snap back. “No, no, I mean, that’s great! You’re talking about the fixity thesis. It’s the idea that evil people have especially fixed characters. That they’re just evil, and they can’t change.”

Michael raises his hands. “ _Yeah!_ Exactly! _”_

“That’s a good understanding of the concept. But remember what I told you? Philosophy doesn’t _have_ a right answer.” He puts a hand on Michael’s arm, before Michael can even realize it’s happening. “Maybe some people believe that, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

He yanks his arm away. “Why do you think it’s not? You have every reason to believe in the existence of inherent evil.”

“Okay.” Chidi nods, and then spreads his hands. “Convince me.”

What more _convincing_ does he need? Chidi’s not - he’s dumb in certain ways, obviously, but Michael’s never thought he was a total idiot. “Okay. First of all, I’m literally a demon.”

“That’s not really an ethical argument.”

“Shut _up_ , I’m not done!” Michael absolutely does not whine. “I meet all of the requirements laid out for evil. Actions - you know all about that. I’m not really sure what the difference between feelings and motivations is, but I’ve got those, too. Torturing you guys was _great_ when it worked! I’ve been like this since the beginning of time, and so has everybody else I know. If we were capable of change, wouldn’t _somebody_ have done it by now? There are a _lot_ of demons out there, Chidi!”

Michael stops to catch his breath. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. Distantly, he hopes he didn’t wake Eleanor; she’d be pissed. Even though he only has three classmates, it’s always a bummer when one of them _deliberately_ won’t sit near him.

He’s on borrowed time. Soon, he’ll be caught. Soon, the humans will realize he _can’t_ be what they want him to be. He should enjoy what he has while he has it.

Though Michael was getting loud, Chidi still seems calm. He raises a hand placatingly. “I’m not arguing that you’ve done evil things. I’m not even really arguing that you’ve _been_ evil. But that doesn’t mean you’re incapable of change - Michael, you’ve _already_ changed. Would you have apologized to me for the trolley problem thing, a few hundred years ago?”

“Of _course_ I would, Chidi!” Haven’t they been through this? “I’m a liar. You think I never faked apologies to you during all those reboots?”

“Would you have come here tonight? You’re here now because you couldn’t sleep and you were freaking out about philosophy.”

“Come on, Chidi, I woke you up at four in the morning! This is _obviously_ a torture!”

Michael doesn’t know why he says that. It’s _not_. The trolley problem was a torture: all he wanted then was to hurt Chidi. This time...he didn’t think about him at all. He’s still not good. A good person wouldn’t wake their friend for no reason. But tonight, he’s not a torturer.

Chidi stares at Michael. “Do you think I don’t _know_ what freaking out over philosophy in the middle of the night looks like?”

Michael glares down at the bedspread. “I don’t even need to sleep. This was just the most convenient time.”

It’s a weak defense. He knows it. Chidi knows it. Fortunately for everyone, Chidi doesn’t say so. “Okay, bud. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Why don’t you go do something fun for the rest of the night, and come see me again whenever you’re free tomorrow. We can work out a different topic for your paper.”

“Wh - really? Why?” Homework is primarily a punishment. Michael’s done enough rounds in Hell to know that. But it’s also supposed to be relevant to the topic at hand, right?

“You obviously understand the readings, and now I know that. There’s no reason you have to write a whole paper on it if you…” Chidi’s eyes go wide, and he seems to think better of whatever he was about to say. “I want to be accommodating of all my students, _especially_ when there’s only four of you. Oh, I know! Why don’t you just revisit that Les Miserables report? I think you’ve really improved since you last read it. I’m sure you’d have some new insights.”

“Alright.” Michael hasn’t spared Les Miserables a single thought since the last time. Still, the change feels weirdly like a weight off his chest. The book is just a book. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.

“Great!” Chidi stands and moves to open the door. Apparently that’s the end of the conversation, then. “Have a good night, Michael.”

“You too,” Michael replies off-handedly, slipping out the door as bid. It’s fine; he didn’t need to stay any longer. He thinks he got what he wanted. He’s not sure what it _was,_ but he feels better, and that’s enough. Quietly, without turning on any lights, he slips downstairs and back outside.

Sunrise is coming on fast now. The sky is already growing lighter, a pale pink creeping over the treetops. Michael draws in a deep breath. The air is clear and fresh, with a faint promise of rain. He’s going to get caught in that downpour later. But that’s okay - he’s always thought rain was fun.

He has an hour or two left to himself. That’s enough time to finish Les Miserables again before his morning meeting with Vicky. That’s always a pain, but at least he gets to go play with Tahani afterwards. He’s looking forward to that. Acting _with_ her’s just as fun as acting _for_ her - maybe more so.

Drawing in a little color from the sky, he makes a bed of bright pink crocuses bloom outside his door. A bouquet will be a nice little hostess gift for Tahani. He can’t stop any of the tortures without risking suspicion. But he’s always let them have a few beautiful things. That’s part of keeping up the Good Place ruse.

These days, he finds it’s his favorite part by far.

* * *

On the second reading, Les Miserables is different.

Okay - _literally_ it's the same story. But it doesn’t _feel_ that way. The first time Michael read it, he thought it was dumb and saccharine. This time, within only a few chapters, he finds himself strangely interested in the main character. Though he already knows what happens, he really _wants_ to read it again.

Jean Valjean started out evil. He committed crimes. He was angry. He hated humanity. But by the time he died, he was good. He managed to overhaul everything about himself, just because somebody showed him a kindness he didn’t deserve.

Does it mean the fixity thesis is wrong? Maybe not. It’s only a story. It doesn’t mean anything for real life - by the rules of the point system, Valjean would still go to the Bad Place.

But he _did_ change. That may not have a point value, but surely it’s not _nothing._

His second paper flows easily. Though he’d worried about what the others might think of his alternate assignment, Chidi never gives him away. They only talk about it in private, and he turns it in alongside the others like nothing happened.

A few days later, the grading is done, and a beaming Chidi hands Michael gets his very first A. The others cluster around to congratulate him. Michael feels like a human with their ribcage split open, vitals laid bare - but he lets himself get caught up in a group hug. Somehow, it feels like they’re holding him together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried real hard on that philosophy stuff, but I ain’t in college anymore and don’t have ready access to those books, so uh. Yeah.
> 
> ALSO I'VE FORMED A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT LES MIS NOW


	7. Epilogue: Michael

“Congratulations. This is everything you’ve ever wanted.”

After all these years, Michael’s dreams fit in the palm of his hand.

Up close, a senior staff pin is really so _small_. It’s nestled in a jewelry box, like the little baubles humans love to give each other. He’s seen hundreds of special gifts passed around - from Chidi to Eleanor, or Janet to Jason, or Eleanor to Tahani. This one is infinitely more precious than any of them, and it’s _his._

“Th- this is everything I’ve ever wanted.” Breathless, he smiles at Shawn.

Shawn does not smile back. That’s not remarkable; Michael’s never seen him smile. Maybe at his best employees, but Michael’s never been one of those.

He’s always wanted to be. Michael’s _always_ wanted to be _somebody._ At long last, this is his chance. Once he’s senior staff, he won’t just be regular old Michael anymore. No more goofy dork obsessed with human trivia; no more ugly squid to be jeered at. At long last, he’ll be important! He’ll be _valuable!_ He’ll finally be the person he’s spent his entire life striving to become!

He’ll have no need for a Good Janet anymore. Maybe he won’t destroy her directly, but he’ll have to reassign her. Sooner or later, her new architect will discover her defects and dispose of her. Michael won’t even know when it happens. Matters like that will be beneath him.

He’ll need to get rid of the humans. They know too much. But that won't be hard; they’ll probably get hauled off for further study anyway. Michael knows what happens to humans in the labs; he's spent time there himself. They won’t be able to talk to _anyone_ after that: not Shawn, not even each other. Certainly not Michael.

He’ll be a traitor. It wouldn’t be his fault. He told them outright that they couldn’t trust him. How is it _his_ fault if they ignored him and did it anyway? He wouldn’t have to feel guilty at all! Even if it were his fault, he _wouldn’t_ feel guilty. He’s a demon! An _important_ demon! He's above such petty human emotions!

Michael swallows reflexively. He feels sick.

A year ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Six, even _three_ months ago, he’d do it all without a qualm. Even now, there’s nothing really stopping him. Just...well, _himself._

Is _that_ who he is? Not the powerful demon of his fantasies, but someone who would throw that future away just to save a few humans and a Janet? 

Michael tilts the pin, watching the light play across its surface. It’s like he’s looked into a mirror and found a stranger looking back. He can bluster and justify all he wants, but beneath it all, he already knows what he is.

He grins at Shawn, broad and bright. “This _is_ everything I’ve ever wanted! Oh, _wow!_ ”

He’s a _liar_.

His biggest lie was the one he told the humans: that he’s a good person. But his _oldest_ lie? That was the one he told himself - one big house of lies constructed from a thousand little falsehoods, all about how nobody has ever mattered to him.

In his life, there’s only been a few truths. Janet at his side, steady even when he faltered. The unexpected warmth of Jason’s hand on his chest. Tahani pulling out all the stops to comfort him even as he hurt her. Eleanor charting a path through his fears and confusion. Chidi, against all evidence, believing in him. Their little team.

Michael’s hands are steady as he plucks the pin out of its box and fixes it to his lapel. “Okay, boss. What’s next?”

He's intent and eager as he nods along, pretending to listen as Shawn details the roll-out of their new initiative. He follows all his cues, laughing at the torture jokes and agreeing with every plan. _This_ might be his most _important_ lie. Luckily, it's not a hard role to play. It's just an older, but still recent, version of himself.

Internally, his mind is racing. There's so much he has to do: secure the others, trick Shawn, get Vicky and the others out of the way. He doesn't have a plan yet. Even once he forms one, he doubts he'll get a chance to tell anybody. He'll have to fly solo for a little while. But it’s fine. He’s not scared.

...okay, if he’s being honest with himself now, that is also sort of a lie. He’s _terrified_. He’s scared he’ll fail his friends. He’s afraid to find out that they don’t trust him as much as he thinks they might, maybe don’t even consider him a real friend. Somehow, the fear of retirement is a distant third.

What he’s _not_ afraid of is regretting this choice. He already knows he won’t. This is the right thing to do.

If he fails, at least he’ll go down alongside his friends. And _that_ is fine.


End file.
